


it's no trouble

by celosiaa



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asthma, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist With a Cane, Season 1, Sick Character, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26450839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celosiaa/pseuds/celosiaa
Summary: Jon has his first asthma attack in years. His inhaler? Definitely at home.(from a prompt on my tumblr)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
Comments: 29
Kudos: 262





	it's no trouble

**Author's Note:**

> transcript style! we got transcript style in here! hope you enjoy :)

[CLICK]

[A SOFT KNOCKING UPON AN OFFICE DOOR]

SASHA: Jon? You busy?

JON: (distantly) Hmm? Ah—

[FABRIC SHIFTS AND HE GIVES A SIGH, WHILE SASHA LETS OUT A SMALL LAUGH]

SASHA: Sore?

JON: A bit, yes. Been sitting too long. Just look at this mess—

[SOUND OF PAPERS BEING PASSED OVER]

SASHA: Wow. I can’t—wait, does that say “vampires?”

JON: (irritably) Well, if you can read that illegible monstrosity, the statement’s yours.

SASHA: (smirking) Touchy. Did Martin not bring your tea yet?

JON: I’m not a child, Sasha. I do not need _Martin_ to bring me tea. In fact, I asked him to stop. On several occasions.

SASHA: Yes, he said. You rather hurt his feelings, you know.

JON: (surprised) …I did?

SASHA: (obviously) Yes.

JON: (determinedly) Right. Good.

SASHA: (audible eyeroll) Sure. 

[SILENCE, AND SHE TAKES A DEEP INHALE BEFORE CONTINUING]

SASHA: Anyway, I was wondering if you could help me.

[FLIPPING THROUGH A FILE]

SASHA: I’ve been trying to follow up on this statement, but I just noticed that there might be a second part to it somewhere in the archive. Any ideas on where I might find it?

[SOUND OF HANDING OVER THE FILE, JON FLIPPING THROUGH IT]

JON: Hmm. I’m not sure there is really any order to where things have been… _strewn about_ down there, but (sigh) I am happy to help you look.

[SOUND OF A CHAIR BEING PUSHED BACK FROM THE DESK]

SASHA: (surprised) Oh! Right. Cheers, Jon.

JON: (softly) It’s no trouble.

[SOUND OF TWO PAIRS OF FOOTSTEPS, ONE SET WITH HIGH HEELS CLICKING ON THE FLOOR, THE OTHER ACCENTED BY THE TAP OF A CANE WITH EVERY OTHER STEP]

[SOUND OF A HEAVY DOOR OPENING]

SASHA: After you.

JON: Right.

[HE SNIFFS]

JON: (Dryly) Nice and dusty down here, as usual.

SASHA: ‘Course. Wouldn’t be an archive without it!

JON: (muttering, insecure) I suppose I wouldn’t know.

[CLICK OFF]

[PAUSE]

[CLICK ON]

[SOUND OF AUDIBLE MOUTH-BREATHING, A BIT WHEEZING, AND PAPERS RUSTLING]

SASHA: (from a distance) Found anything yet?

JON: (voice rough) No, nothing yet.

[HE COUGHS TWICE IN RAPID SUCCESSION, THE SOUND MUFFLED BY FABRIC]

[A FEW SECONDS OF PAPERS BEING SORTED THROUGH, THE WHEEZING SOUND GETTING LOUDER]

[JON INHALES SHALLOWLY, COUGHING FOUR TIMES IN SUCCESSION, EACH LONG AND LABORED]

SASHA: Goodness. You okay?

JON: (breathless) Fine—(shallow inhale) —fine. Sorry.

SASHA: (muttering) You don’t sound it.

JON: (irritated) I’m _fine_.

[SILENCE, PAPERS RUSTLING]

[A BOX TIPS OVER AND LANDS HEAVILY, LID SCATTERING OFF ACROSS THE FLOOR]

[JON INHALES SHARPLY]

JON: (surprised) Oh—

[ANOTHER SHALLOW INHALE, AND HE’S COUGHING AGAIN, RAGGED, WHISTLING, AND WET]

[SOUND OF HURRIED FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING]

SASHA: (worriedly) _Christ_ , Jon! You alright?

JON: (panicky) As—asthma. Need to—

[HE BREAKS OFF FOR ANOTHER TERRIBLE-SOUNDING COUGHING FIT]

SASHA: What can I do?

JON: (breathless) Help me up.

[SOUND OF FABRIC AS JON IS ASSISTED TO HIS FEET, AND TWO SETS OF FOOTSTEPS EXIT THE ROOM]

[SOUND OF JON SLUMPING AGAINST THE WALL AND SLIDING DOWN TO SIT]

SASHA: (voice kept intentionally calm) Where’s your inhaler?

JON: (still breathless) Might not need it. Better out here.

SASHA: (incredulous) I’m going to get it Jon. Where is it?

[SILENCE REMAINS FOR A FEW MOMENTS, SHALLOW BREATHS STILL CONTINUING]

SASHA: (impatient) _Where is it_ , Jon?

JON: (mutters inaudibly)

SASHA: What was that?

JON: (child caught stealing cookies from a jar) …it’s at home.

SASHA: (pitched higher in frustration) _At home?_

JON: Haven’t needed it in…a while.

SASHA: Unbelievable.

[SHE STANDS, STEPPING A BIT AWAY FROM JON]

SASHA: (shouting) Tim! Need your help!

[DISTANT SOUND OF TWO CHAIRS BEING PUSHED BACK, AND TWO SETS OF JOGGING FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING]

TIM: (worried) What’s wrong?

[MARTIN GASPS, STEPPING FORWARD TOWARD JON]

MARTIN: (very worried) God! What happened? Are you hurt?

JON: (irritated, still breathless) I’m _fine_. Good lord, just—just go back to work.

MARTIN: (ignoring him) Why are you breathing like that? Are you ill?

[SOUND OF HAND BEING SLAPPED AWAY]

JON: (vitriolic) Don’t touch me.

MARTIN: (softly) …sorry.

SASHA: He’s got asthma, Martin. He’s having an attack.

TIM: (intense) Where’s your inhaler?

SASHA: (furious) At home.

[TIM AND MARTIN SIGH IN UNISON. SOUND OF KEYS BEING PULLED FROM A POCKET]

TIM: (exasperated) Right. I’ll run and fetch it then. Call an ambulance if he gets worse.

MARTIN: (determined) On it.

[SOUND OF FOOTSTEPS WALKING AWAY. JON GIVES A HEAVY SIGH, TURNING INTO A PAINFUL-SOUNDING COUGHING FIT, WHICH HE STRUGGLES TO CONTROL]

MARTIN: Alright, just sit up straighter if you can. It’ll help.

[JON CONTINUES TO COUGH HEAVILY FOR SEVERAL SECONDS]

SASHA: My hand is over the call button, Jon.

[COUGHING SUBSIDES, BACK TO HEAVY BREATHING]

JON: (breathless) M’fine. Getting better.

SASHA: (audible eyeroll) Right. Course you are.

MARTIN: (gently) Just save your breath, Jon. Tim’s a _really_ fast runner.

JON: I know.

[CLICK OFF]

[PAUSE]

[CLICK ON]

TIM: (out of breath from running) Got it. Here. You gonna make it?

MARTIN: Here, Jon. Can you hold it?

JON: (breathless, voice ragged) Course I—can.

[HE EXHALES AS MUCH BREATH AS POSSIBLE BEFORE PRESSING DOWN ON THE BUTTON, INHALING DEEPLY]

SASHA: Alright?

[JON TAKES A FEW MORE BREATHS, STILL SOMEWHAT SHALLOW. HE EXHALES DEEPLY AGAIN, BEFORE TAKING ANOTHER DRAW FROM THE INHALER]

MARTIN: (sympathetic) Poor thing.

[TIM SNICKERS]

[SOUND OF HIS ARM BEING PUNCHED]

TIM: (quietly) Ouch.

JON: (voice stronger) I’m alright now. Really.

MARTIN: You sure? You can sit here as long as you need, I’ll bring you some water—oh, careful—

[SOUND OF JON RISING SLOWLY TO HIS FEET]

JON: I’ll get it myself.

SASHA: Here.

[SOUND OF CANE TAPPING ONCE ON THE FLOOR]

JON: (quietly) Thank you.

[TIM GASPS]

TIM: (grinning) Did you just _thank us_ , Boss? Is that what I just heard? A thank you? For what, just _saving your life?_

JON: (irritated) Fine. Yes. Thank you.

MARTIN: (nervous) You sure you’re—(gasp) _woah woah woah_ —

[SOUND OF STAGGERING FOOTSTEPS, CANE CLATTERING TO THE FLOOR. TIM AND SASHA GASP]

MARTIN: (very worried) I’ve got you, I-I’ve got you. Sit back down, here—

[FABRIC RUSTLES AS MARTIN SETTLES HIM BACK DOWN, BREATHING RAPIDLY]

MARTIN: (gently) Just sit quietly for a bit. You’ll be alright.

SASHA: I’ll get you some water. Stay put.

[FOOTSTEPS WALKING AWAY]

JON: (vague-sounding) I’m…I’m sorry. I-I don’t—

TIM: (lowly) Just save it, Boss. You’ll be back to your usual stubbornness in no time, I’m sure.

MARTIN: Just try and take some deep breaths.

[JON DOES AS HE’S ASKED, BREATHING TWICE A BIT SHAKILY IN THROUGH HIS NOSE, OUT THROUGH HIS MOUTH]

MARTIN: Good. That’s good, Jon.

JON: (still shaky, whispering) …thank you.

MARTIN: (audibly beaming a sunny smile) It’s no trouble at all.

[CLICK]

**Author's Note:**

> thanks very much for reading!! hope you enjoyed the transcript style, it's new for me. come yell at me on tumblr @celosiaa if you like. have a wonderful day! <3


End file.
